


Inescapable

by VisionaryGalaxy



Series: A Thousand Futures of Me and You [48]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Don't copy to another site, Fluff and Angst, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, I'm Sorry, M/M, Mild Smut, Sad Stephen Strange, Sad and Sweet, This one actually made me cry a little, guess who died again, yeah you got it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 15:45:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17206226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VisionaryGalaxy/pseuds/VisionaryGalaxy
Summary: There was always a price, and this was Stephen’s. Knowledge was terrible as it was useful, the deadliest weapon ever to grace man-kind and had long since found willing participants to play Russian roulette with its power and Stephen had lost.





	Inescapable

**Author's Note:**

> Ahem, I hope everyone had a wonderful holiday but unfortunately I am here to bring down the mood.  
> Also first time writing smut really, so that's why its shit.

   It was almost midnight according to the large grandfather clock against the wall, tucked in the small space between two massive windows. The fireplace at the other end of the room was bright and flickering, seemingly teasing Stephen with just enough light to see the steady movement of the clock hands as they got ever closer to that dreaded twelve.

   Stephen himself was sat up in bed, staring at it with a sick feeling in his stomach. One hand moved gently through Tony’s hair, occasionally employing his fingers to scratch a little, listening with rapt attention to Tony’s steady breaths and periodic quiet snoring.

   It was difficult, unimaginably so for Stephen to stay quiet. His other hand was pressed securely to his mouth to stifle his sobs, though he couldn’t do anything about the tears soaking his cheeks and hand, dripping onto the comforter below. He wouldn’t dare interrupt Tony’s sleep, couldn’t explain the grief working through him.

   Five minutes away now and Stephen realized he was shaking, retracted the hand in Tony’s hair even as pain reverberated through him, even as everything in his body told him to tug him into a hug and never let him go. He leaned forward, hunching over his legs, both hands crushed to his mouth now as he sobbed in silence, as his brain replayed the horror awaiting him.

   Distantly he knew his behaviour was ridiculous. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t known for the past fifteen years this day was coming, he had witnessed it in technicolour after all, he should be prepared, he should absolutely not be breaking down at this moment when time was so short.

   But he realized now, he took that small gift for granted. He had taken the knowledge and tucked it away with golden chains and the near constant day to day denial that it would be dealt with later. Foolish, the epitome of his complete selfish stupidity, wasted over and over again. Now here he was, the day but a minute away.

   He had just enough sense to slip off the bed, though he didn’t make it far. He allowed himself to fall to the ground next to it where his whimpers and sobbing wouldn’t wake Tony through unnecessary shaking, where he could curl up and wait for the inevitable death toll that would seal their fates.

   It did, but a moment later. It was particularly loud, no longer enough to wake Tony who was long used to its nightly interruption and slept right through it. But as Stephen sat there, staring up with red eyes, each toll felt like a knife being plunged into his chest over and over again, the same painful sting that left him nauseous and desperate.

   Stephen had been waiting for this moment, however, and had given himself these twelve steady tolls to get himself together. By the fifth he had stopped crying, by the seventh he forced his hands off his mouth, by the tenth he was no longer curled in a ball, and by the twelfth he was wiping his tears and painfully getting to his feet. He was still shaking, but it was now at acceptable levels, his mind was still crying in absolute agony, but Stephen forced it away, shoved it back into the small chest with the golden chains. Pity was never something he allowed, not again.

   Slowly, he crawled back into bed, slotted his body tightly against Tony and revelled in the feeling of his body heat, the steady rise and fall of his chest. One of his trembling hands came to rest on his heart where he could just make out a subtle beat, something his ear was long trained for. Stephen kept his eyes on the clock, waiting with bated breath for it to strike seven.

\---

   Stephen was sat back up in bed. His fingers were running through Tony’s hair once more. He wasn’t crying this time, though he wanted to, instead he drunk up the image before him. Stephen had gotten up from the bed, not having slept at all, at six twenty to throw open the blinds and let the room fill with natural light as the sun began its steady rise. Now, he reveled in what he saw, working hard to commit every detail to memory.

   Tony was fast asleep still, blanket around his waist, one arm above his head, the other thrown over Stephen’s lap. He held that hand with the one not playing with his hair, his grip light so the trembling wouldn’t disturb him. Tony’s chest was a battlefield of scars, each one with a story to tell of close calls and lessons-learned. Stephen dutifully recited to himself each and every one, struggled not think about what new ones would be added today. He let his gaze move up, catching on the goatee streaked through with grey hairs, ones that Tony liked to complain about, but Stephen had also caught him admiring in the mirror, as if in disbelief he had made it this far. The thought was a painful one and Stephen shied away from it, that his lover would make it no farther. His gaze continued, moving over every inch of his face, his lips, his nose, his eyes, his eyebrows, his forehead with the new scar from a week ago, his hair, also streaked with grey. This one Tony only joked about, how they were now a matching set. The lines now found in his expression, proof of his older age.

   It had been fifteen years longer then Tony ever thought possible and surely Stephen should be proud for him, knew Tony would be oddly complacent about it, yet his mind couldn’t help its mantra of _not enough time._

   “Hmm, Stephen?”

   He bit back a sob that tried to work up his throat, blinked away the sting in his eyes. Tony was pushing up into his petting, a lazy smile on his face. He reminded himself silently that although he might not be able to tell his lover, he could still give him something good, something happy today, _his last day_.

   “About time you got up.” He said softly, watched as Tony’s eye cracked open to look up at him. Saw his brows furrow in concern.

   “Are you alright?”

   Instead of answering, Stephen slid down until he was laying next to him, watched as Tony turned onto his side, effectively making him lose his grip on the wayward hand. But it came up to cup Stephen cheek, “I’m alright Tony, promise.”

   He knew he didn’t believe him, but Tony didn’t push, simply leaned in until he could press his lips to Stephen’s. It was meant to be a peck, a simple good morning acknowledgment but Stephen wanted to be selfish today, felt as though he earned it in the way his heart was slowly breaking into splinters, how he felt like fabric stretched too thin. So, he pressed forward against the man who had been the love of his life, the man whom he would lose today. Stephen let his hands grip his hair and his face, allowed his tongue to push its way into Tony’s willing mouth, encouraged Tony’s own hand that settled on his back and pushed him closer.

   Tony let out a quiet groan, pulling away for a moment, face flushed, and eyes closed but he was smiling. Stephen needed more, couldn’t take the helpless feeling coming through him, so he kissed him again, slotted his leg between Tony’s, felt his hips thrust forward on instinct, the hitch in his breath as Stephen pulled back and kissed his ear, using his teeth to tug hard on the lobe for a moment.

   “Good morning to you too,” Tony panted, his hips having taken up a steady rhythm, rutting against Stephen’s leg.

   “I love you,” was all he said, kissing him again, not daring to say more. He didn’t know what would slip out, what words might make the universe decide he couldn’t be trusted and yank away his memory, his one consolation for the pain he would go through. It was a possibility he knew, and as much as he hated the world right now, he couldn’t stand the thought of losing these precious moments, of not knowing how important this last memory of Tony was.

   It wasn’t long before Tony’s thrusts grew rougher and a frustrated little whimper slipped from his lips. Usually Stephen would tease him, would drag this on for as long as they liked, would happily indulge their whims, but Stephen knew time was short, the clock ticking away their time at a steady pace as ceaseless as ever. He didn’t hesitate to pull back a little so he could see Tony’s face, the sweat glistening on his brow, the darkness of his eyes as he opened them to look at Stephen, the way little huffs of breath came from his beautifully red lips, Stephen snaked a hand between them, and slipped in into his pajama pants and past his boxers until he could wrap it around his heated flesh.

   It took all of four solid strokes, hips jerking desperately in his grasp, for Tony to come. Stephen didn’t dare move his eyes from his expression, soaking it in as he had done to his sleeping face earlier, the way his head tilted back, his mouth opened wider in a low groan, his eyes scrunching up as they closed. He gently rubbed him through it, ignoring the slick in his hand, desperately keeping his mind focused on the here and now.

   Finally, in small increments Tony’s breath slowed, his eyelids peeled back to look at Stephen who had retracted his hand, the flush on his cheeks was absolutely beautiful and he was gripped with the urge to take a picture, but it would never do him justice.

   Tony’s hand, which had been cupping the back of his neck and gripping him harshly relaxed, his thumb running soothing circles on the skin, “what the hell was that?”

   Stephen pushed in until his face was against his neck, he found himself hyper away of his pulse point, the proof of life, “too much?”

   Tony laughed, tugged him back by his hair and kissed him, “never, you know that. Just unexpected.”

   Stephen’s eyes looked over his shoulder, thirty minutes, he wanted to throw up. Instead he looked at Tony’s face, relaxed from orgasm and hand slowly travelling downwards, Stephen stopped it and forced a smile, “come on, you need to shower.”

\---

   Stephen used the shower to worship him. Tony was sleepy and satiated enough to be pliant, more then used to Stephen’s whims after all these years when it came to taking care of him. He washed his hair and his body meticulously, hands ghosting over every inch of skin, eyes fluttering closed every few minutes so that he would remember, so that feeling, and images would imprint themselves on his mind. When they finally stepped out, the bathroom filled to bursting with steam and a truly content smile lit up Tony’s face.

   Stephen watched as he slung a towel around his hips and walked out, intent on dressing for the day. Stephen didn’t move, the shaking beginning to travel through his limbs again. He no longer needed the clock to know what was coming, had the memory playing out before him in high definition. He summoned his clothes onto himself, dried his hair quickly with a towel and found himself leaning against the counter harshly as he waited.

   A ring sounded in the other room, Tony’s cellphone. Stephen’s legs almost gave out as he bit his lip harshly to control himself. A few more minutes and he could breakdown again, could scream and cry without holding back.

   He heard Tony pick up, heard him speak quickly, heard him approach the bathroom. When he came into the doorway, he was slightly frazzled, his hand already going to his chest where his suit was housed, having put it on while dressing, “hey love? Sorry I got to go, Cap said there is a minor emergency to deal with.”

   For a moment Stephen thought he wouldn’t be able to say anything but that wonderful little chest in the back of his mind willingly took hold of his pain for a few short seconds, “ok, you need my help?”

   Tony was shaking his head, the suit began materializing, “its nothing we haven’t dealt with before, I should be back in an hour.”

_You won’t be, please don’t go._

   Tony was already turning to leave but Stephen suddenly jerked forward, his hand gripping the cold metal of the suit’s arm, “one second,” he glanced at him in confusion and Stephen tugged him around, looked hard into his eyes. “I love you, so much. Remember that, the time I’ve spent with you has been the happiest of my miserable life.”

   Tony blinked at him. Stephen saw indecision play across his features, but it was gone just as fast when FRIDAY’S voice came out, clearly offering more details. He nodded once, “I love you too, I’ll be home soon.”

   Stephen closed his eyes as he left. When he heard the suit take off from the balcony he fell to his knees, not so unlike the night before. He heaved, his arms wrapped tightly around himself as his scarred fingers dug into his skin like the pain could ever distract him from the horrible sense of _loss and wrong._

\----

   Wong found him there ten minutes later, tear streaked, and snot nosed, barely holding himself together. The man knew since day one of course, had been issuing not so subtle warnings for the past three weeks that he had duly ignored.

   All those years ago when Stephen and the Avengers had saved the world he had looked into the future. When he saw the possibility of salvation in the one and only Tony Stark he had looked farther, when he saw what they would become he was indulgent and went even farther, and finally, the Stone gave him his punishment, allowed him to see Tony’s foretold end.

   There was always a price, and this was Stephen’s. Knowledge was terrible as it was useful, the deadliest weapon ever to grace man-kind and had long since found willing participants to play Russian roulette with its power and Stephen had lost.

   There was no getting around it, Stephen had tried. Tony would die today one way or the other and no matter what he did, his lover wouldn’t be saved. Two things were inevitable in their world, the passing of time and death.

   So, as Stephen sat there, Wong silent yet oddly comforting by his side, huddled in his Cloak and desperately cradling his cup of tea, he knew that Tony was dying. This mission would kill him and the older grandfather clock in this room taunted him with the time as it drew nearer. He was pulled into his memory, forced to watch in agony as Tony died again, sat placidly even as he would rather scream and shout.

   He was only pulled from it at the shrill ringing from his phone, sat on the coffee table before them. Wong sent him a questioning look, but Stephen shook his head, could already feel the tears snaking down his cheeks all over again as he picked up and without looking at the screen, put it to his ear.

   “Dr. Strange?” came Peter’s tear-stained voice, shaking and barely recognizable. “Its Tony…he’s…he’s...I’m so sorry…he’s-”

   Stephen cut off the pain-filled words with his own, “I know Peter, I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts? Opinions? Please share, it keeps me inspired :)  
> This is the first one I wrote that made me tear up twice and is my new standard.


End file.
